Ennui
by Sresla
Summary: Tharan Cedrax finds himself at loose ends aboard the Jedi Consular's ship, which allows him time for a little introspection.
"Tharan, you haven't paid me one bit of attention since we came down here!"

"Now Holiday, you know that isn't true," Tharan replied, although he continued to stare up at the ceiling of the ship's sterile medical bay.

He and his holographic companion had retreated down into the bowels of the Jedi's Corellian Corvette on the pretense of upgrading the facilities, but it was privacy he sought, away from the gimlet stare of the Trandoshan with whom they shared crew quarters. 'Soft thing' was what the big lizard called him, and it was difficult to perform with someone muttering that in the bunk below, even with Holiday putting her considerable skills toward the task. At least the lieutenant possessed the good sense to know when to make himself scarce, but Qyzen… "Scorekeeper take him," Tharan swore, and he hoped the alien's goddess was listening.

The bed here was only marginally more comfortable than his berth above deck, as if its inclusion was an afterthought to the ship's designers. The facilities were rudimentary at best. "If you would, Holiday, run a diagnostic on the kolto tank?"

She answered a few moments later. "It's never been flushed."

"Ugh." Tharan's skin crawled at the thought of bacteria-ridden microbes escaping confinement and floating purposefully towards him, preparing to attack his immune system. He shivered. "How utterly uncivilized, not to mention unsanitary. Do it immediately."

She sounded puzzled. "No, sweetie," she replied, "you don't understand. There's not a single nasty germ or pesky parasite in there. It's very," the sound of her voice changed, sounding muffled, "very clean."

Tharan turned his head. Holiday was inside the tube now, her image distorted by the regular flow of bubbles. She began to dance, singing almost under her breath but still loud enough to be audible. "Clean, clean, the cleanest thing I ever done seen."

"Grammar, my dear. Please don't let the colloquialisms you've heard rub off on you."

She amended her song for a few bars, still twirling and gyrating lazily in the liquid that didn't touch her, then stopped singing and simply hummed the tune. He watched her for a time, but his mind wasn't on her performance, even as he followed her dance with his eyes. Of course the tank was clean; the Jedi seemed to have no use for it.

He blinked and when he opened his eyes again, Holiday was back at his side. "Are we going to do anything down here, or are you going to lay there all day?"

"Scan the other systems. See if anything needs an upgrade. Please," he amended, as she wrinkled her nose. She flickered out of existence, mollified. He had, perhaps, designed her almost too well with some of the more troubling aspects of a female personality that required coddling and politesse when he would rather his commands just be obeyed. Still, his brilliance had created life and that meant accepting the unforeseen foibles with dignity and grace befitting of his genius.

The problem was, he was bored. Bored of this tiny ship, bored of the politicking, and bored with the frustrating trips to the far flung places in the galaxy that didn't allow him to relax and enjoy himself. Take Tatooine, for example. There was certainly money to be made there, with some of the most powerful criminal cartels hiding their operations on that dry, dust ball of a planet. And the jawas! Their clever claws made all sorts of interesting devices – even if they couldn't tell him exactly how they'd done it or what most of their creations were supposed to actually do. The fact they could create anything from the salvaged scrap found in the endless desert was a wonder itself - remarkable! The little primitives could probably teach him a thing or two about making due with materials on hand in less than ideal situations. Tharan would have no idea now to construct a vaporator from a scrapped protocol droid and brightgum wrappers but unless the translation failed him, that's exactly what one of the creatures claimed they'd done. Well, no, it wasn't that he couldn't do it, but he'd want a proper workshop where he could plan out the schematic for optimized performance, rather than scratching a diagram in the dirt and hoping it worked rather than exploding in his face.

"And I have such a handsome face," he mused. When Holiday didn't respond, he sighed. The ship must be in a poor state, if she missed a chance to compliment him.

His talents were being wasted, languishing here. He drew an arm across his eyes. Even that scruffy revolutionary from Balmorra experienced more excitement than he did. The Twi'lek was away right now, delivering important communiques to an influential Republic general at his estate on Ord Biniir, in some sort of secretive mission with covert meetings and dead drops. It probably involved disguises and code words too, just like something out of a holovid, but here he was, stuck on a ship that didn't even have a proper call sign he could boast about. The last time he'd left at the Jedi's request was to help ship some undrinkable swill from a no-name planet on the outer rim because they didn't have a proper engineer in their employ to regulate the on-board temperature fluxuations in their storage bay. A droid could have done his job! That blasted C2-N2 droid was always so solicitous about the crew's comfort; why not put that programming to good use on the junker where the robot could coddle and coo over the liquor vats.

He sat up and shouted, "Holiday!"

His construct shimmered into view beside him. "What's all the fuss, honey bunch? The diagnostics have given me ever so much to work on. I was thinking of starting with a recalibration of the front sensor array. Because it's a ship, is it the bow sensor array?"

"I truly couldn't care less, Holiday. Tell me – why did we leave Nar Shaddaa?"

"You said you were bored. That the work there was tedious."

"Did I actually say that?"

She opened her mouth and began speaking, but it was his own voice issuing from her mouth. It was disconcerting, especially since he didn't recall making vocal archiving part of her core programming. "After our thrilling sojourn in Shadow Town, I came back to all the contracts piled up on my desk. Humdrum. Tedious. Boring. And I realized Nar Shaddaa's charms have staled. I want adventure. Excitement! To see something of the galaxy. So, in exchange for a single billet on your ship, you can have the tech expertise of Doctor Tharan Cedrax exclusively at your disposal. What do you think?" Her voice changed back to its normal pitch. "Is that what you meant? That's exactly what you said right before we left. I can't say it didn't worry me at first, but you do have me and I'll protect you, Tharan. I always will. And that nice Jedi. He's so big and strong, don't you think?"

"Yes, yes. Of course, my dear. I feel better just hearing those words coming from your lips. Now, do get back to your work. We wouldn't want him to think we weren't doing our part here."

She nodded and disappeared again. Tharan rubbed his temples and laid back down. He'd said the words, obviously. And here he was, now, on the ship. He'd wanted to come, hadn't he? He'd been shot at and threatened with various other implements of torture and death since joining the Jedi; it was really quite barbaric and seemed contrary to the high value he put on his own life.

It was also unlike Holiday to heap such high praise onto someone that wasn't himself. There were a lot of words Tharan might use to describe the Jedi, but he wasn't certain nice would be one of them. ' _Disciplined_.' Well, that wasn't so bad was it? Drooga the Feastmaster was strict, and Tharan still enjoyed going to the parties on his barge. ' _Skilled._ ' He'd read Andred's file, of course, and knew that he came from a long line of respected Miralukan Jedi; his father served as head of the Luka Sene on Tython. Jedi training was rigorous, so those words were apt as well. ' _Iniquitous._ ' Even as he thought it, his head began to ache in earnest. Lord Vivicar, the plague… Tharan remembered Vivicar's warnings and how the Jedi disregarded them… the warning about the consequences of the corrupted master's death but Andred still cut the other man down… twelve pages of names that the Jedi didn't even bother to glance at when he received the transmission… with their numbers reduced, who else could the Council turn to, but they hadn't been on the madman's ship to see what Tharan saw and heard and finally pieced together… it was all calculated, part of Andred's plan to be named a hero… he meant to say something, to warn them it was a trick, a trap, not to trust…

"Tharan?"

Tharan sat up again. The Jedi loomed in the doorway, his large physical presence blocking the exit.

"Is everything alright?" When he stepped into the light, Tharan saw he was smiling. "Holiday told me you're unhappy, being here on the ship. That isn't true, isn't it?"

Tharan's mouth was dry and he found he couldn't answer. He was afraid to say anything, in case what he was thinking somehow leaked out and made itself known. His anti-mind control device protected him, surely, but not if he spilled his innermost thoughts out of fear. He hadn't designed anything that could protect him from the searing bite of a lightsaber. "Of… of course not, Jedi," he said. "Just having a bit of the doldrums to contend with. It happens, even to the sharpest of minds."

"Well, we can't have that. What does Holiday do, to keep busy? She didn't seem to understand why you were so bored."

"Oh," Tharan waved a hand, feeling his confidence return once the Jedi crossed his arms, "she finds even the most menial of tasks interesting. A word from me is usually all it takes for her to dive right in." Andred was agile but from that position and pose, he wouldn't be able to reach him before Tharan called out to Holiday for help if he needed it. No, the Jedi suspected nothing and had no idea that Tharan knew his secret. He'd send a message to the Jedi Council at the earliest opportunity and they'd take care of everything. He could return to his life on Nar Shaddaa. There, he could regulate the amount of excitement he experienced and get back to enjoying the finer things in life.

"Very interesting. So, its part of her command structure, is that right?"

"That's it precisely. I've programmed her to be eager to obey my every whim."

The Jedi clapped his hands together and Tharan flinched at the sudden noise. "I know just the thing then. We'll make you just like Holiday. You will find everything I tell you to do interesting. You have no desire to leave the ship. You love it here and you love being at my beck and call. Isn't that right?"

"I do love being here, Jedi, and am so grateful you find my humble skills of use. Did you have a task for me?"

"Oh, I don't know. My clothing and room could use a good cleaning. I'm certain you could invent something to do that sort of thing."

"I'm certain I could invent something to do just that."

"And if not, you could do it yourself."

"If I'm not successful, I can do it myself. Never let it be said that Tharan Cedrax shirks his duties."

Andred moved aside. "Well, don't let me keep you."

Tharan got up from the bed and strode upstairs. The ship was an absolute mess, and someone of his intelligence shouldn't be forced to live in squalor. He'd start with Andred's room. It felt good to have a purpose and doing this for the Jedi was no less than he deserved. After all, didn't he take such good care of them?

* * *

Author's Note: And here we meet Cerran's (my SW:TOR Smuggler) oldest brother, Andred. Is it any wonder he turned out the way he did? The Capel clan is a twisted bunch, with his father, Keluin being the worst although Andred runs a close second. In my head, I sort of imagine them being the Voldemorts of the Star Wars universe: "There is no good and evil, there is only power and those too weak to seek it." Andred honed his ability to subtly manipulate people by compelling Cerran with the Force when the whole family still lived on Tython, and now that he's left the Academy, he's basically off his leash. This story was conceived a long time ago, when Tharan originally joined him on Nar Shaddaa. It never really felt right to me that Tharan would leave his life there (he might make noises about doing it but to actually pick up and leave seemed out of character). However, add in an off-screen conversation with Andred where he's ordered to go, well... Tharan's hubris with his anti-mind control device, and his dislike whenever I (Andred) force command people is just the icing on the cake.

Thanks to Wookieepidia for all things Star Wars related that I simply didn't know enough about and had to look up.

The universe belongs to George Lucas and Disney and EA, Tharan Cedrax and Holiday to Bioware, Andred to me.

I thank you for taking the time to read this story. If you're so inclined, please feel free to review; a critique is as valued as praise.


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